After our first gong bath experience, I had the feeling I was missing something. Something I might have been open to if I hadn’t been late and in a bad mood when we arrived. There was another gong bath coming up, at a different location and a time that worked better for us, so we gave it another shot.
If you’ve been to enough Christian concerts and speaking events, this has probably happened to you: a room that is full of people, and full of the Holy Spirit.
If you aren’t a believer, that idea might make you feel uncomfortable, but stick with me. There’s a lot of things about the world that make all of us uncomfortable, and if we can’t let ourselves squirm a little while we try to put ourselves in one another’s shoes, then we should stop asking for acceptance from the people we are secretly (or not so secretly) judging. But that is another blog post altogether.
Last year, I shared some of the books we read for Black History Month. Really, Black History Month is every month at our house. But if it isn’t a part of your everyday reading material, make a little extra effort in February (which starts tomorrow!) to include titles that will expand your mind and refresh you (or even teach you something new). Here are some of my picks.
The night Six was born, I hummed through labor. It was a single note with each contraction, in the same key. I wondered what note it was. Not long before, I’d heard a piece on NPR about the note nature hums in, and it was B flat. Could it be that I was humming with the universe without even knowing it? At some point, I was able to ask the Chaplain, who has perfect pitch, what key I was humming in.
It was B flat. The note that excites alligators. The note that black holes hum (in a very, very low octave).
Six came into the world not long after that, after a brief, intense labor. As he was being born, my first thought was that his nose was enormous.
His face isn’t the only thing that sets him apart from his siblings. His personality is a shower of sparks, a hurricane of energy, deep feeling, and stubborn determination.
As number six, he’s always been surrounded by an entourage. Since he was a baby, his siblings have loved to entertain him because of the faces he makes in response.
He has been spoiled and placated at times, and he manages to squeeze equal amounts of fury and nurturing from everyone in the family.
I’ve lost count of the number of photos I found with him in the hiking backpack, either in the kitchen, or on the trail. 
He was as likely to be on Dad’s back as Mom’s.
He is the kid who from the time he was small, has screamed bloody murder at bath time, but loves water.
He got all the extra cuddles because we thought he’d be our last.
He’s so young that it’s hard to imagine the person he’ll grow up to be. He can be impossible. He shows us his tough side, then melts into tears. I’m often puzzled by how to parent him in a way that leaves us both sane.
He has moments of pure joy. There are the times when he just lets me hold him. And he fights sleep passionately, then powers down on the spot wherever his body finally shuts off.
I want the best for Six, as I do all my kids. He certainly broke the mold when he was born, entering as he did to the hum of the universe. Like his siblings, he is a fighter, a stalwart soldier.
He wants things a certain way and can’t be convinced the way our other kids usually can be to just do what he’s being asked. I’ve been in more fights with him, and let him win more of them, than with any other person (adult or child) in my life.
Six, you confound and challenge us. We love you so much. You are a square peg, and we know those angles are the gifts that make you unique and will make you an amazing grown up.
Photo credits: feature image, Lindsey Crandall Photography. First image in post, my midwife.
One of my favorite things about nursing is that I’m always learning. On my floor, things sometimes come in groups – one time I’ll go in, and most or all of my patients will have the same type of stroke, the same type of brain tumor, or the same kind of surgery. Another time, the patients will all be radically different and have different needs.
On a recent night shift, I had a complex patient with a type of drainage tube that we rarely see on our floor. In fact, we have lumbar drains (which drain cerebrospinal fluid from a spot in the patient’s lower back) and several different types of drains coming out of patients’ heads all the time, and are quite comfortable with those. Stick a drain in another part of their bodies, though – say, a drain that replaces their bladder, or one leading to a wound vac (which is probably as gross as it sounds, but it serves a purpose), something like that, and sometimes we can get a little twitchy.
